


The Tattoo

by faymarie



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faymarie/pseuds/faymarie
Summary: Roger wants a tattoo for Christmas, but has a fear of needles. He asks Freddie to come with him.





	The Tattoo

Roger paced back and forth in the kitchen. He was too nervous to ask his raven haired friend a stupid question. Roger wanted to get a tattoo for Christmas as a gift to himself. All he wanted was his stupid star sign on his wrist. The Leo sign didn't seem complicated and it wouldn't have been a big deal if he wasn't deathly afraid of needles. 

Freddie would for sure make fun of him, he thought. The blonde quit feeling sorry for himself, and gathered the courage to approach the lead vocalist in his bedroom. He was sitting on his bed with papers everywhere, writing what Roger guessed to be a song. Freddie's dark locks fell on his shoulders and his eyeliner was perfect. His face was soft as he concentrated on whatever he was working on. Freddie reminded Roger of an Egyptian queen. 

"Freddie," Roger broke the silence. "Would....can you come with me....to get a tattoo?" 

The vocalist looked up and smiled at his friend. "Finally getting one on your ass?" Freddie quipped. It would have been funny if Roger didn't have a touch of anxiety. 

"Umm....my wrist. I want the Leo sign," Roger admitted. He left out the fact he was terrified of needles, but he always wanted a tattoo. Freddie put down the pen he was holding and stood up to stretch. Roger had no idea how long he had been writing. His friend was known to be quite the perfectionist. 

"I suppose we can walk to the tattoo parlor," Freddie said. "Unless you had another place in mind."

"No, that's fine," Roger agreed. His anxiety dulled a little, but his palms were still sweaty. Freddie grabbed his faux fur coat and threw Roger's jacket over to him. Roger caught it and smiled at his friend. It was going to be an interesting night. 

The walk to the parlor seemed quick, and Roger was hoping his anxiety wouldn’t show. Freddie chatted with him going on about his cat, something John had done that made him laugh, and the upcoming tour. Roger made sure to nod his head and laugh at the right moments. His thoughts were consumed with the amount of pain he was about to be in. 

They entered the shop and the consultation was a breeze. They were greeted by a slim woman dressed in black with long dark hair. Roger assumed she would be doing his tattoo. As the artist went to draw up the Leo design, Freddie browsed the tattoo samples on display. His eye of course wandered to a cat. Roger sat on the couch, his leg was shaking as he tried to relieve his nervous energy. When the artist finally reappeared, they filled out the proper paperwork and soon Roger had his sign stenciled on his bare wrist. 

“I'll be over here, darling,” Freddie said, taking Roger's seat on the couch. Roger looked at his friend like he wanted to say something. He needed Freddie's presence next to him, but the words failed him and he was lead to the stool at the artist's station. She pulled on her sterile gloves and prepped her equipment. Roger heard a click and he saw the dreaded needle. He felt an unpleasant shiver and a wave of nausea suddenly hit him. 

“Are you alright dear?” the artist asked him. She smelled of cigarettes and sported an eyebrow piercing.

“Of course,” Roger swallowed. “I just don’t fancy needles.”

“Do you need your friend over there?” she asked. Her soft, gloved fingers ran petroleum jelly over his virgin skin. Roger felt a lump in his throat as he glanced over at Freddie. He looked up from his magazine, making eye contact and Roger felt ashamed. 

“Are you his boyfriend?” the lady directed at Freddie, who did look a bit flamboyant with his faux fur coat and perfect eyeliner.   
Freddie grinned. “I’m whatever he wants me to be, darling.”   
Roger mentally face palmed. The situation would be hilarious if he wasn’t about to vomit from his nerves. The artist smiled with amusement. 

“Either way I don’t care, but your friend over here looks absolutely terrified. We have an extra seat you can pull up,” she offered. 

Freddie walked over and grabbed the extra stool. He sat next to his band mate and they both watched as the tattooist prepped her ink and hovered the gun over Roger's wrist. 

“It hurts less if you plan on tipping,” she winked. “Ready?”

Roger nodded, giving his permission for her to start. The needle hit his skin for the outline and it wasn’t so bad. It felt like being stuck at the hospital, except over and over. He felt okay, maybe because of the sudden adrenaline, until his vision went spotty.   
Freddie noticed his friend grow pale and he was afraid he was going to pass out and fall out of his chair. Roger laid his head down on his free arm to avoid fainting. The artist paused, but he made a motion for her to continue.

Freddie being the person he was, put his hand on the back of his bandmate's head and twirled his blond locks gently around his finger. He continued playing with Roger’s hair during the filling. Roger wondered how he had gotten so lucky to have Freddie as a band mate. The motions were slow and soothing. He even appreciated Freddie’s soft fingers graze the back of his neck attempting to relieve tension. 

Somewhere during the session, Roger had grabbed the lead vocalist's hand. Normally, Freddie would have made a comment, but he withheld it. His friend's hand was clammy in his. The raven haired man rubbed circles on Roger's knuckles.

As the session ended, and the artist cleaned Roger's wrist, Roger peered at her work. He was a bit shaky but smiled, satisfied about the whole ordeal being over and how the finished product looked. He made a mental note to thank Freddie later. Roger was too reluctant to let go of his hand, so he kept holding it until they paid and left the shop. 

Affection wasn’t uncommon between the group, so when Roger's wrist was unbearably sore the next day, Freddie had no problem getting him an ice pack for the bruising. The drummer's usually pale wrist was red and swollen. The ink wouldn't scab up for another day or two, but the pain was annoying.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Roger said as Freddie pressed the ice pack on his wrist. 

“There's no need to be in pain, darling,” Freddie mothered him. “It’s not the prettiest thing to look at either. I feel it just from looking at it.” He placed Roger's free hand on top of the ice pack to keep it steady. His warm hand lingered on the drummer's for a few moments. 

“Freddie nothing is as pretty as you,” Roger replied dryly.

“You’re beautiful too, Liz,” Freddie quipped using the nickname he affectionately had given his friend ages ago. Roger rolled his eyes, but was slightly disappointed when the vocalist removed his hands. 

They finally settled down on the couch to watch television. Roger took the ice pack off between breaks. He started to worry about the ink bleeding out on the towel, so he left it off and settled for night time Tylenol. It was all they had at the moment and the drummer decided it wouldn't hurt to fall asleep early that night. 

Freddie was caught up in some night time comedy show when he felt something soft hit his shoulder. The vocalist released a sigh and reached over to grab a folded up blanket from behind them that they kept for guests spending the night. It had been a while since Freddie was given affection, even though it wasn't uncommon among their group. 

John followed Freddie around like a lost puppy and usually leaned against him on long car rides. Freddie didn’t mind because he cared deeply for all his friends. He could be found leaning casually against John or hugging onto his side when the group hung out. It was something that happened when everyone was relaxed. The vocalist always joked about how snuggly John was, almost like a bear. Roger, and even Brian, were no exception.

The blonde sighed deeply in his sleep when Freddie arranged the blanket over the two of them. He didn’t want to move, so the two friends just stayed there in each other's warmth. The clock rang midnight, jarring Freddie out of his thoughts. It was officially Christmas Eve and the two friends were content leaning on each other on their couch. The vocalist pulled Roger closer, sighing into his hair. All was well.


End file.
